The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 146

Gay was the picture--every maid Whom late the lighted scene displayed, Still in her fancy garb arrayed;-- The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here Beside the nymph of India's sky; While there the Mainiote mountaineer Whispered in young Minerva's ear, And urchin Love stood laughing by.

Meantime the elders round the board, By mirth and wit themselves made young, High cups of juice Zacynthian poured, And while the flask went round thus sung:--

SONG.

Up with the sparkling brimmer, Up to the crystal rim; Let not a moonbeam glimmer 'Twixt the flood and brim.

When hath the world set eyes on Aught to match this light, Which o'er our cup's horizon Dawns in b.u.mpers bright?

Truth in a deep well lieth-- So the wise aver; But Truth the fact denieth-- Water suits not her.

No, her abode's in brimmers, Like this mighty cup-- Waiting till we, good swimmers, Dive to bring her up.

Thus circled round the song of glee, And all was tuneful mirth the while, Save on the cheeks of some whose smile As fixt they gaze upon the sea, Turns into paleness suddenly!

What see they there? a bright blue light That like a meteor gliding o'er The distant wave grows on the sight, As tho' 'twere winged to Zea's sh.o.r.e.

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze, It seemed the night-light far away Of some lone fisher by the blaze Of pine torch luring on his prey; While others, as 'twixt awe and mirth They breathed the blest Panaya's[27] name, Vowed that such light was not of earth But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame Which mariners see on sail or mast When Death is coming in the blast.

While marvelling thus they stood, a maid Who sate apart with downcast eye, Not yet had like the rest surveyed That coming light which now was nigh, Soon as it met her sight, with cry Of pain-like joy, "'Tis he! 'tis he!"

Loud she exclaimed, and hurrying by The a.s.sembled throng, rushed towards the sea.

At burst so wild, alarmed, amazed, All stood like statues mute and gazed Into each other's eyes to seek What meant such mood in maid so meek?

Till now, the tale was known to few, But now from lip to lip it flew:-- A youth, the flower of all the band, Who late had left this sunny sh.o.r.e, When last he kist that maiden's hand, Lingering to kiss it o'er and o'er.

By his sad brow too plainly told The ill-omened thought which crost him then, That once those hands should lose their hold, They ne'er would meet on earth again!

In vain his mistress sad as he, But with a heart from Self as free As generous woman's only is, Veiled her own fears to banish his:-- With frank rebuke but still more vain, Did a rough warrior who stood by Call to his mind this martial strain, His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh:--

SONG.

March! nor heed those arms that hold thee, Tho' so fondly close they come; Closer still will they enfold thee When thou bring'st fresh laurels home.

Dost thou dote on woman's brow?

Dost thou live but in her breath?

March!--one hour of victory now Wins thee woman's smile till death.

Oh what bliss when war is over Beauty's long-missed smile to meet.

And when wreaths our temples cover Lay them shining at her feet.

Who would not that hour to reach Breathe out life's expiring sigh,-- Proud as waves that on the beach Lay their war-crests down and die.

There! I see thy soul is burning-- She herself who clasps thee so Paints, even now, thy glad returning, And while clasping bids thee go.

One deep sigh to pa.s.sion given, One last glowing tear and then-- March!--nor rest thy sword till Heaven Brings thee to those arms again.

Even then ere loath their hands could part A promise the youth gave which bore Some balm unto the maiden's heart, That, soon as the fierce fight was o'er, To home he'd speed, if safe and free-- Nay, even if dying, still would come, So the blest word of "Victory!"

Might be the last he'd breathe at home.

"By day," he cried, "thou'lt know my bark; "But should I come thro' midnight dark, "A blue light on the prow shall tell "That Greece hath won and all is well!"

Fondly the maiden every night, Had stolen to seek that promised light; Nor long her eyes had now been turned From watching when the signal burned.

Signal of joy--for her, for all-- Fleetly the boat now nears the land, While voices from the sh.o.r.e-edge call For tidings of the long-wished band.

Oh the blest hour when those who've been Thro' peril's paths by land or sea Locked in our arms again are seen Smiling in glad security; When heart to heart we fondly strain, Questioning quickly o'er and o'er-- Then hold them off to gaze affain And ask, tho' answered oft before, If they _indeed_ are ours once more?

Such is the scene so full of joy Which welcomes now this warrior-boy, As fathers, sisters, friends all run Bounding to meet him--all but one Who, slowest on his neck to fall, Is yet the happiest of them all.

And now behold him circled round With beaming faces at that board, While cups with laurel foliage crowned, Are to the coming warriors poured-- Coming, as he, their herald, told, With blades from victory scarce yet cold, With hearts untouched by Moslem steel And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal.

"Ere morn," said he,--and while he spoke Turned to the east, where clear and pale The star of dawn already broke-- "We'll greet on yonder wave their sail!"

Then wherefore part? all, all agree To wait them here beneath this bower; And thus, while even amidst their glee, Each eye is turned to watch the sea, With song they cheer the anxious hour.

SONG.

"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" said the cup-loving boy As he saw it spring bright from the earth, And called the young Genii of Wit, Love, and Joy, To witness and hallow its birth.

The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flamed Till the sunbeam that kist it looked pale; "'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" every Spirit exclaimed "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

First, fleet as a bird to the summons Wit flew, While a light on the vine-leaves there broke In flashes so quick and so brilliant all knew T'was the light from his lips as he spoke.

"Bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried, "And the fount of Wit never can fail:"

"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" hills and valleys reply, "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

Next Love as he leaned o'er the plant to admire Each tendril and cl.u.s.ter it wore, From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire, As made the tree tremble all o'er.

Oh! never did flower of the earth, sea, or sky, Such a soul-giving odor inhale: "'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" all re-echo the cry, "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die, Came to crown the bright hour with his ray; And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his eye, When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say;-- A laugh of the heart which was echoed around Till like music it swelled on the gale: "T is the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" laughing myriads resound, "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

[1] "_Nerium Oleander_. In Cyprus it retains its ancient name, Rhododaphne, and the Cypriots adorn their churches with the flowers on feast-days."--_Journal of Dr. Sibthorpe, Walpole's, Turkey_.

[2] _Lonicera caprifolium_, used by the girls of Patmos for garlands.

[3] _Cuscuta europoea_. "From the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereids."-- _Walpole's Turkey_.

[4] "The produce of the island in these acorns alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quintals."--_Clarke's Travels_.

[5] Now Santa Maura--the island, from whose cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea.

[6] "The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one hundred and fourteen feet from the water, which is of a profound depth, as appears from the dark blue color and the eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks."--_Goodisson's Ionian Isles_.

[7] This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it "Balalaika."

[8] "I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the Romaika upon the sand; in some of these groups, the girl who led them chased the retreating wave."--Douglas on the Modern Greeks.

[9] "In dancing the Romaika [says Mr. Douglas] they begin in slow and solemn step till they have gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes setting to her partners, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading them through the most rapid revolutions: sometimes crossing under the hands, which are held up to let her pa.s.s, and giving as much liveliness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she conducts her companions, while their business is to follow her in all her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure,"

[10] The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance.

[11] It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises of their country.